


Mycroft The Rich

by arlenejp



Category: Mystrade - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 08:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11399052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: Mycroft invites Greg to dinner. It becomes rich man, poor man and how to meet in the middle.





	Mycroft The Rich

Mycroft Holmes, that's me, is a very busy man. So busy I have no time for a social life. A top man in the British government, I travel all around the world, sometimes to places very dangerous. It's an engrossing job that keeps me on my toes. Thank goodness for my assistant Anthea. She runs my office and my household.

* * *

My other job is taking care of my younger brother Sherlock. He's as intelligent as I am but not known for keeping his mouth shut. Gets him in all kinds of trouble and then I use my influence to drag him out of situations.

To top it off he also uses drugs and has overdosed a few times. Lately, he's been clean. 

Thanks to a certain Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Lestrade took Sherlock under his wing after finding him overdosed and rushed him to the hospital. And has since been giving my brother some criminal cases to work on which stimulates Sherlock enough to avoid the drugs.

* * *

I find out that Lestrade is from a poor, working class family, who, growing up lived closely together in a flat He shared a room with his youngest sister. He has three sisters and as a young man was constantly into scrapes keeping them safe. After secondary school, he went to police academy and had, through hard work, become the DI he is. A very respected man by all.

* * *

Married at a young age, with two children. But the marriage now is not healthy. He's never cheated, but his wife has twice. He knows about them and forgives her and stays with her.

In his fifties, stocky but slim for his age, over six feet. Still has his hair which is now a silver gray and so his nickname, Silver Fox. Good looking by today's standards.

* * *

You could say that I'm intrigued by him. How wholesome he seems and of course, his affection for my brother helps.

* * *

Myself? I'm in my forties, and very slim. Because I would tend towards weight gain I exercise regularly. I'm over six feet and LOVE dressing smartly. I wear three-piece suits and even my shirts are hand tailored. I have enough money to afford only the best. From tailored clothes to food to travel.

* * *

The evening is a cold one and Anthea texts me that I'm needed at a crime scene. The dead man is an intelligent agent. My driver takes me to a warehouse. Police cars everywhere, I step out and walk up to see Sherlock and his partner John Watson.

* * *

          "Good evening gentleman."

Sherlock gives a huff, "What are you doing here? You should be in Iran or someplace."

          "Sherlock, play nice," John says, rubbing his hands and blowing on them.

          "Actually, I, uh, never mind," as I look up and see Lestrade strolling toward me.

          "Mycroft Holmes, I was told you were coming. Want to see the crime scene?"

We shake hands, and I'm surprised at how affable he comes across. Walking into the building, I notice how his officers defer to him and part the way.

I take in the scene and tell Lestrade while looking around.

          "DI Lestrade, let Sherlock handle this one. I think it's a good one for him."

          "He's been chomping at the bit to come in. And it's Greg Lestrade. Make that Greg."

What a twinkle he has in his eye as he says that! I want to know him better than what I've learned from my files.We leave the building, and I give a nod to Sherlock and John.

At my car, as I'm opening the door I stop, turn to Lestrade as he's walking away, "umm, Lestrade, Greg."

He comes up to me and without giving a thought to how it sounds, "would you like to have dinner with me one night?"

Greg stares, and I'm transfixed by his blue eyes.

          "Yeah, yeah, I would like to get to know the other Holmes brother."

          "My car will pick you up at six tomorrow, suit and tie are fine."

For a minute I thought he was going to back down, but he grins, "I guess like Sherlock you know where I live."

His hand reaches out to shake my hand, but he punches my arm lightly instead.

What an interesting man!

* * *

Anthea has my dark blue pinstripe three-piece suit with a pink shirt and pink handkerchief. She says not a word, but I see the crinkles of a laugh around her eyes.

* * *

My car pulls up to Greg's flat, and he's at the door and inside in a flash.

I'm now awkwardly quiet. Don't know where to start. I haven't been on a 'date' since Sixth form school.

* * *

          "Mycroft, can I ask about your's and Sherlocks names? Where do they come from?"

Aha, something to talk about!

          "My family has always had unusual names. Mine means farming with water and Sherlock is a lock of hair."

          "Bet it made it hard for you at school as a kid. I was teased because I always had to stick up for my sisters and became somewhat of a bully. I was a street kid. Don't imagine you were."

          "No, our family has had money for generations. But yes, we were teased. Not only for our names but we both were intellectually superior to most of the children."

          "And that left out being socially in, am I right?"

I smirk and nod yes.

* * *

Once inside the restaurant, I can see that Greg is impressed by the luxuriousness of it.

We are seated and menus handed to us.

          "Greg, don't worry about the prices, please. Order what you want."

It amuses me that Greg hesitates and finally settles on the lamb.

* * *

          "So this is how the upper crust dines. I'm used to hamburgers and pizza."

          "Well, then, we'll have to provide you with more experiences as to how the upper crust dines."

Greg laughs at that and from there on our conversation seems to flow effortlessly.

* * *

Leaving the restaurant and heading back to Greg's I ask if it would be too much if we dined out again in two days. He's all right with it.

          "Same time then," as he leaves.

* * *

I'm delighted to see him two days later and I'm wearing my brown three-piece suit with a light tan shirt.

          "Mycroft, I have a confession to make. I only have this one suit to wear."

          "Greg, it doesn't matter what you wear. No one will notice but me, and I don't care. Not seeing you for your line of clothes."

* * *

Dinner is steaks, chocolate dessert, and great wines, and having a friend makes it even more interesting.

* * *

Sitting in the car in front of Greg's house I inform him that I'll be away for two weeks.

          "I'll text you when I get back and we can continue our culinary tastings."

          "Okay. I also love Japanese food and Italian."

          "That will be our next foray. An attack on the finer dining of Japanese and Italian."

* * *

It takes a bit longer to finish up in Europe and as soon as I hit British soil I text Greg and we agree to meet the next night.

* * *

          "Mycroft," Anthea says with a big smile on her face, "this is getting to be a habit."

She only calls me by my given name when we're alone.

          "He's married."

Sitting on the lip of my desk, toying with a pencil as she elucidates on my evenings out.

          "Stop. it's just a friendly dinner arrangement."

          "Yeppp! Agree! Okay! I'll have the car ready."

Damn her! She sees right through me! Because obviously, I am finding more in Greg than expected. But...I have no idea whether he would be inclined towards anything more than what we are doing.

* * *

In my black pinstripe three-piece with a gray shirt, I get into the car to pick up Greg.

That night we are at a high-end Japanese restaurant. Upon entering we take off our shoes and are given slippers to wear.

We're seated at low tables with many mats to sit on and lift us up to table height. My long legs have a hard time and I try to stretch them out.

          "This is called a Tatami Room." 

The detective looks around at it in amazement. It has bonsai trees, arranged flowers, and small what looks like ivory carvings on little shelves, and decorative scrolls The room also has wall panels made from shoji screens.

* * *

          "I'm speechless. Can't wait to try the food."

          "Will you let me order for you, Greg?"

          "Of course."

Tea is served along with sake, a rice wine. It is strong and I let Greg know to sip it slowly.

* * *

As we are alone the talk turns more personal.

          " I understand you're in this marriage awhile, but why not leave it since you're obviously unhappy?"

          "No reason to. She lets me live my life and I hers. No money worries either. But, if someone came along that I fancied I probably would be out in a heartbeat."

          "And you Mycroft?"

          "No interest. My work keeps me busy enough."

The evening continues, and I have to admit I'm drinking more than my usual. And Greg is also.

Greg starts to pursue a line of questioning I normally would avoid.

          "Mycroft, what about sex? Ever get any of it from those high priced women? Whats it like, the sex from them?"

Greg contemplates this as I don't answer.

          "So it's men? And how do those fancy men do it?"

          "Greg this conversation-." 

He interrupts.

          "Tell me, I'm interested," as he leans further in toward me.

          "One of my servants takes care of me on a regular basis."

I can see he's speechless. He takes a few moments, gulping.

          "So, what happens. You feel the need and call him in, and he does what?"

          "He comes in, takes my penis and rubs it until I'm satisfied."

          "That's it, nothing else?"

          "No nothing else. That way it's impersonal."

          "Well, I'll be damned! That I would like to see!"

* * *

I sit back, aware we are both drunk and speaking carelessly.

          "Greg, we're both inebriated. We should stop this right now."

          "You're right and sorry if I overstepped the bounds.To let you know, I'm bisexual, so you're inclination doesn't change anything."

I'm so relieved. And a bit surprised. Greg is okay with my sexuality.

On the way home I'm aware of the tension between us. It's almost like that conversation opened up places we've been hiding from.

* * *

          "Mycroft, how about we slum it next time and I take you to a pub that has good finger food. But no suit. Jeans or trousers and a shirt."

>

          "Agreed."

          "And we can get rid of the car; I'll pick you up in my old junker. How about six on Thursday?"

We part company. I hurry into the house and call my servant over to service me.

* * *

Thursday night seems to take forever to come about. I find a suitable pair of black trousers and a dark green shirt. Feels strange not being in a suit.

Greg's car is at least ten years old, and he is driving.

          "Hop in and see how the other half lives."

* * *

The pub is right near the police station where he works. It's crowded and noisy. Loud music playing, Neon light signs, smells of stale beer and sweat. We take a seat and Greg orders the beer, fried chicken wings, cheesy fingers, garlic puffs.

          "Never heard of these categories of food and I've never had a beer," having to shout above the din.

          "Great, this will be an experience for you."

I must admit I have a great time. The food is so unusual for me. I very rarely remember eating with my fingers, and I find I like beer.

But the noise gets to both of us.

          "Mycroft, my house is around the corner. Let's go over there. We can sit quietly. I have more beer in the frig."

* * *

The house is small, but it seems comfy. The sitting room has a cushioned sofa, two recliners, some small tables and a large telly.

I sit on the sofa while Greg gets more beer from the kitchen. He plops down on the sofa next to me.

          "You know, without those suits on you look almost human. Although I can tell that those trousers are not cheap."

Greg inclines against the sofa arm, laying one leg partly on the cushion. He's able to look at me directly.

* * *

          "You are a most captivating man. You give away so little, but, it's almost like you want to jump out of that shell of yours."

          "Now you sound like my brother, analyzing me."

          "It's true though, I think," and he hesitates, "never mind."

          "Where's your wife," trying to divert the exchange.

          "Who knows and who cares," he nonchalantly states.

* * *

          "Greg, I love to cook. What if, the next time, we have an at home dinner, my place, and watch a movie. If you have any particular favorites, you can bring it."

          "Love that thought."

The night ends, but with a tension in the air between us that can't be denied.

* * *

The car picks up Greg, and he is a bit awed by the size of my flat.

          "Come and sit in the kitchen while I finish up."

          "Oh, I knew whatever I brought over in liquor would not be good enough, so I brought dessert."

He hands me a wrapped package. When I look, it's a gallon of chocolate chip ice cream, my favorite.

          "I called your office and got Anthea on the phone, and she told me."

          "That will go well with the champagne and chocolate covered strawberries. "

His eyes light up.

* * *

He helps mix the tossed salad and bring the food into the dining room.

          "Shit, this room could fit into my kitchen and dining room combined."

Dinner is well received. I love to watch Greg eat. With gusto. The conversation steers clear of any sexual innuendoes. We talk politics and mostly about his work. He understands my business cannot be discussed.

          "Let's take the dessert and go into the sitting room. Usually, with a guest, I have my servant do all this. But for tonight I wanted it to be just us."

Plates, spoons, glasses, and all the dessert is laid out on the sideboard.

And we help ourselves to it all.

* * *

Greg is making jokes, laughing lots, poking me in the arm, touching my shoulder, becoming more intimate.

I must say I'm enjoying the whole evening.

* * *

Movie forgot we're sitting close to each other sharing the strawberries when Greg startles me.

          "Let me feed you a strawberry."

His fingers have a strawberry in one hand, and with the other, he touches my lips.

          "Open up, and let the strawberry in."

I hear his intake of breath.

And we both stop, midstream.

          "What are we doing, Gregory?"

          "Hell, Mycroft, whatever we want to do."

* * *

Strawberry put back down on the table he leans in as I do and our lips meet, very tentatively. Small kisses, Greg's fingers caressing my cheek.

Suddenly I want more, my hand around his neck, opening up my mouth and tongue his lips. He groans and opens up for me.

I pull away suddenly.

          "We must think about this, the consequences."

          "What consequences are you talking about? Shit, Mycroft we both want sex. What's so bad about that?"

          "Cold feet huh? Or am I not good enough for you?"

          "Gregory, that's not what I'm thinking about."

          "Yes, it is! Or will I become another servant to fuck you when you need it?" 

Angry and upset he stands up and says,"Don't bother with the car, I'll find a cab."

          "Don't leave like this."

He walks out slamming the door.

* * *

I wait two days to text Greg.

          _Please let's talk._

          _I don't have the money you have and can't keep up with you._

          _Not asking that of you. Money has no bearing on my feelings for you_

          _I'm not going to be your fuck man either_

          _can't we see each other to discuss this face to face_

And there's silence on my phone. Damn!

What did I do wrong?

* * *

All my texts go unanswered to Greg. I try showing up at a crime scene, but he ignores me and walks away.

Finally, I give in and go to Sherlock's flat.

          "What happened?" after explaining the situation to them.

Both John and Sherlock are in the dark. Of course, I have to put up with all kinds of crude remarks from my brother, which John desperately tries to get Sherlock to temper down.

* * *

Months pass and no word from Greg. I try to forget him, that smile, his face.

* * *

Anthea rushes into my office one evening. 

          "Mycroft, Greg Lestrade has been shot. He's in intensive care at Barts. Go to him."

My first instinct is to do just that. But...all this time has passed.

          "No Anthea, it's over. He won't want me there anyway."

          "You stubborn ass!" and walks out of the room.

* * *

I call the hospital and use my pull to find out more. 

Greg's been shot in the abdomen, but the bullet did not hit any major blood vessel or intestines. The doctors are watching for peritonitis, and that's why he's in intensive care for the time being.

My heart and mind are constantly in that room with him. Keeping up work is almost impossible. But I won't go where I'm not wanted.

Each day I call the hospital desk for information.

* * *

One day I receive a surprise visit from John Watson, Sherlock's flatmate. I know the reason for the stopover.

          "John, I know why you're here."

          "I'll get right to the point. I think Greg would be happy to see you. Greg and I have gone out pub crawling, and he still always talks about you."

          " I appreciate this, but we are through. It's over."

          "Is it really? Do you want to give up that easy?"

          "What you don't understand is Greg gave up not me."

          "And you let him go, just like that? Well, I guess you didn't care enough then. I tried. Good day, Mycroft."

* * *

I take a drink of whiskey, sit in my chair and spend hours staring at nothing.

* * *

Greg is out of intensive care and is doing well. But I'm not. I can't sleep and can't concentrate on any of my work.

          "Mycroft Holmes, you will sit down with me right now," Anthea growls.

We're in the sitting room, and she pours us some whiskey and into the easy chairs we sit.

          "If this is about Greg then stop."

          "No, I will not. You are driving yourself crazy over this. And I don't understand why. I want you to discuss it out loud. Go!"

Looking down at my glass, I exhale.

          "Greg towers over me in practical everyday experience. I'm a novice compared to him. Look how I live, how I dress, who I dine with? I could never come down to his level and be the ordinary man." I pause, and Anthea waits.

          "I don't have the sexual experience he has. Couldn't hold my own in a pub. Don't know how to use the tube. Crowds bother me."

The minutes tick by as my head unlocks more doors.

          "Have no idea how to budget, how to buy store bought clothes, flying in a public airplane."

          "Is that all? Or is there more drivel you want to spout?"

          "Sex," and I hesitate.

Anthea shifts in her chair and leans in towards me.

          "Oh, just because he's been out in the big bad world he knows all there is to know about fucking? And so what if he does?"

She leans back, and continues, "Mycroft Holmes, you'll put a steel, bulletproof sheet in front of you so that you don't have to connect with a human being. Here you have a warm, honest, man wanting to love you and you throw up the 'Mycroft's too rich' barrier."

Getting up she puts her glass on the sideboard.

          "Too bad you're so afraid to face the world. To face love. Goodnight, Mister Holmes."

She walks out and leaves me sitting, pondering my words and her final thoughts.

* * *

It's days later, and I find out Greg is going home. Calling the hospital, I let them know I'll have a car sent to drive Greg to his house.

In the car, I place a note.

          'I'd like to visit you if you are agreeable to it. Text me please.'

Greg refuses to get in my car, and a friend drives him home.

He never saw my note.

* * *

I send a pizza over to his house with a note attached to it. 

          'May I visit you? Text me.'

          _Next time I expect a home cooked prime rib with a baked potato. Yes, come visit_

* * *

I'm beside myself with excitement but don't want to go alone. I ask John to join me the next evening.

We enter Greg's house to find him on the sofa with a blanket around him and Sally Donovan, one of his detectives sitting nearby.

I'm not able to say a thing, but John steps in.

          "Nice that you are home. Sally, good to see you. Greg, how's it going?"

Greg has not taken his eyes off me since I entered. I'm standing with my umbrella, leaning on it.

          "Mycroft, thanks for the pizza. It's my favorite place, and of course, you knew which pie I liked."

* * *

John turns to watch me, a perplexed look on his face.

          "Greg, where's your wife?"

John is trying his best to alleviate the closeness, the strain in the room.

          "Oh, you don't know. The wife walked out on me a month ago. Right before I got shot. I have no idea where she is."

Still looking at me, "Sally, why don't you and I head to the kitchen and get some beers out of the frig."

Sally gets up, and she and John leave. I know John did that on purpose, and so does Greg.

* * *

          "Are you going to stand there all night and not say a fucking word? Or have you come to gawk at the monkey in the zoo?" 

Greg's tone is prickly.  


          "Greg, I," and I move to the kitchen where Sally and John are.

I panicked.

Greg's tone of voice put me off.

* * *

John sees me and is acutely aware that nothing went right.

Sally recognizes that something is amiss.

          "Tell you what guys, I'll say nighters to Greg. You can have him to yourselves."

She walks from the kitchen and John turns to me, "What is going on? Why do you, no wait a minute! You're using me as a buffer. No, don't say a word. I'm leaving now. You go back to Greg now!"

John marches out, and I'm left alone.

* * *

I stand and lean against the counter my back to the kitchen door.

          "Mycroft Holmes, I apologize for my remark back there."

          "Greg, you shouldn't be walking around."

Advancing on him I put my arm around his waist and help him back to the sitting room and the sofa.

* * *

          "Greg, I've made a fool of myself."

          "Yea, the rich man slumming."

          "Stop please! Let me explain."

          "Yes, you're right. But also wrong. It was me. me being ashamed of my wealth. Ashamed because I don't know how ordinary people live. I thought you would ridicule me, despise me. Imagine, I'm in my forties, and the foray with you into a pub was my first time."

Stopping and looking at my umbrella as I sit down, and wait.

* * *

          "Holy shit, Mycroft! And here I thought you were ashamed to be with me because I am one of the ordinary people."

The silence in the room is palpable.

* * *

          "So now what, my rich, never been in a pub, man?"

          "How would you like to be spoiled by a, never been in a pub but once, man?

And the laughter begins.

* * *

I stand up, over to the sitting man and kneel down to him. 

          "Greg, let's begin anew, starting with," and I kiss him.

Greg kisses back. The intensity grows. We both pull back, stare into each other's eyes.

          "Would you like me to cook you dinner at my place tomorrow night? I'll have my driver pick you up. We'll have filet mignon, twice stuffed potatoes, roasted asparagus, chocolate covered strawberries, and champagne. And this time, lots of kisses and whatever else we can cook up."

Smiling broadly, Greg agrees, and I happily concur.


End file.
